


Conversations We Never Had

by jest_tal



Series: Things We Never Were To Each Other [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jest_tal/pseuds/jest_tal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter while exploring the Deep Roads has Varric Tethras looking at Hawke in an entirely different light. Here are the stories of the romance that could have been...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Days had stretched into each other as the expedition trudged its long and winding way down into the Deep Roads. Varric supposed that, as a dwarf, the loss of sky and moving air shouldn't have come as a shock to him. Bartrand certainly seemed to be flourishing with every yard they delved deeper. Clearly, the prospect of returning to their ancestral roots pleased him almost as much as the prospect of all the loot they hoped to find.

Then again, Bartrand had always pined away for Orzammar and its halls even when they were young. Varric, on the other hand, liked his world better with flowers and birds, not to mention beer and beautiful women. These tunnels held a distinct lack of all of the above.

Well, with the exception of Hawke who certainly wasn't bad for a human woman. But she didn't really count.

He unconsciously scanned the camp for the dark-haired warrior. Most of the party was still lingering around the small cook fire, enjoying the break from the ceaseless walking. They should be only a couple days away from intersecting with one of the main tunnels leading to the thaig on Bartrand's map. So far they'd not encountered any darkspawn or really any resistance beyond a few spiders that were dispatched with reassuring speed. That wasn't something anyone was taking for granted, however, and a watch had been set.

Odd. Hawke wasn't scheduled for watch right now, and yet she was nowhere to be seen. The side cave they'd chosen wasn't that large and had been selected mostly because it was defensible and partially because it was close to a swift flowing stream. He leaned back, increasingly curious. He should be able to spot her.

"Hey, Blondie," he called to the mage after a few moments, "Where's Hawke?"

"I don't know," the man responded, looking a little startled. "She was just here."

"She left camp about a half hour ago," the lyrium tattooed elf said flatly but didn't look up from the sharpening of his blade. "She said she was heading downstream and would be back shortly."

Varric snorted, "Well if that doesn't sound like it was a bad idea." He stood up and spoke with a sigh and gusty resignation, "I'll go check on her."

Anders stood up as well, "I'll go too."

"You sure about that?" Varric smirked, "I mean, do you really want to be the one to interrupt her if she's tending to personal business? She's been looking just as green about the gills lately as you have."

It had been amusing as hell to see the dwarven constitution in action. As an experienced expedition, they'd brought rations that would keep well and a good supply of their own water. However, even the best of rations could, apparently in time, disagree with that delicate human digestion system and part of the reason they'd chosen this cave was because they'd needed to replenish their water supply. It had all been boiled for fear of taint, but it wouldn't be the first time one of the humans or the elf had run off into a side cave quickly because the food or water disagreed with them.

Anders hesitated. Varric didn't blame him. He certainly wouldn't want to see a woman he wanted to bed in the act of being sick from one end, the other, or potentially even both.

"I'll check on her," Varric said firmly. "And don't worry, if there's trouble, you'll know about it."

With that he hoisted Bianca over his shoulder and sauntered for main tunnel. The light in these sections was iffy at best, but since flame was a great way to scare off unwanted cave life, they had made a point of igniting almost every left behind torch, abandoned lantern or oil occupied cistern they passed. As a result, there was light bleeding off in several places on the path behind them and it was more than enough for him to see by. He suspected that Hawke wouldn't stray too far from the light though, since her eyes were at a distinct disadvantage down here.

With that in mind, he decided to explore around the first bit of left behind light that he saw, and fan out from there. It was near enough so that he could still hear some of the murmurings from the camp and the stream gurgling not too far away, and he assumed Hawke would have been smart about remaining close them, too.

While he might not have been as nostalgic for Orzammar as Bartrand was, Varric couldn't help but wonder about the past of this place he walked. The stone under his feet remained smoothed, shaped, even as he rounded a corner to start down an unexplored path that started sloping. Normally you didn't work to pave places where no one went. They were in the tunnel systems, but by no means along a main causeway yet. So, who, exactly had been using these passages? Where had they been going?

Another turn and more light from the main tunnel was lost, but as he'd predicted there was the glow of another fire up ahead. A torch. Since Varric knew that the scouts hadn't ventured here, he figured it was a good bet that the torch was Hawke's. Of course, Darkspawn had been known to use torches as well and even if it was Hawke, she could still be in trouble. A half-hour was a decent chunk of time to be gone, after all.

He silently brought Bianca to bear, just in case, and turned the last corner between him and that flickering light.

Just like at their campsite, this was a place where the water had raised its head up from the rock and cut a path for itself. The stone walls and ceiling were both worn smooth, curving with an organic flow that mimicked the fluidity that once had shaped it. Unlike the campsite, however, the stream was much calmer here and only reached about, oh, mid-calf on a moderately tall human woman.

Varric was certain about that last part since Hawke was currently standing in that stream and her calves were most definitely visible. As was pretty much every last inch of her, in fact.

The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to turn and walk away, of course. The shallowness of the stream was resulting in a few challenges to a proper bath, but Hawke could obviously handle it on her own. She had apparently put some thought into this and even pilfered a bit of soap and cloth to do so, though she had to lean down to rinse anything out.

Well, as a human, she had to be used to being too tall to reach the ground easily anyway.

Varric cocked his head to the side, unconsciously lingering even as he lowered Bianca. Funny how he'd never really appreciated how nice a line of long uninterrupted leg could be. Granted, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen a naked human woman before and he was familiar with the general idea of stretched out limbs...

It was just that he had such a clean unobstructed view, now. Obviously he couldn't accuse Hawke of deliberately drawing things out, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere as she leaned down to a foot, her toes pointed and knee slightly bent, to slowly scrub her way up from ankle to thigh. Or, maybe, it was simply that over a week of dirt took good deal of scrubbing to banish. Either way, she lingered and he was unrepentantly grateful for it.

She had a great deal less meat on her bones then the women Varric usually made such an intimate visual acquaintance with. He noticed that her stomach didn't really hold much more than a very gentle curve once she'd straightened up. In a way it was less of what he thought of as feminine, but the flare of her hips was pleasing in its own right. There was a certain symmetry and grace, anyway...

It was only a matter of time before Hawke, who was not foolish enough to stop keeping an eye on her surroundings, caught sight of Varric. He did, however, hasten that inevitability when she twisted to the side and both cloth and torchlight licked over the soft curves of her breasts. His inhalation and subsequent mutter of indistinct, if amused, appreciation may have been unplanned, but they were also audible to a wary Hawke.

She moved quick as a cat. Water sloshed as she lunged for the blade that Varric hadn't even noticed waiting close at hand. She whirled on him, dark hair flung outwards.

Varric raised his hands instantly, surrendering and sheathing Bianca in one motion, "Whoa there!" he said quickly. "It's just me, Hawke." Eyes on her face, idiot. Eyes on her face.

She stared at him for a moment and he began to sweat. What had he been thinking? Well, yes. That. But how the hell was he going to explain this? He was damn certain he hadn't been gawking for more than a few seconds at most, but...

"Varric!" Hawke straightened up and looked sheepish. A blush played over her cheeks and she appeared briefly uncertain what to do with both the sword in her hand and herself. She bravely foraged forward. "Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, uhh, well." He pointed a thumb back to camp, "Blondie was getting all nervous. You'd been gone for a bit."

The blush deepened and she shifted her weight. She started to cross her arms over her chest and thought better of it at the very last moment. Varric swallowed hard, unsure whether he was thankful or disappointed. She continued, "I honestly wasn't planning to try and get cleaned up, but then I caught a whiff of myself and couldn't help it."

"Oh, understandable," Varric agreed quickly. "We all smell like nug herders by now. We should all take advantage while we're camped here, in fact."

The banal absurdity of small talk in this situation must have begun to sink in, for Hawke began to smile. She raised her chin almost defiantly and took the offensive, "Why, Varric. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? Me? Not at all. It's not as if I'm the one showing off my birthday suit," Varric said, mild as butter with just the hint of a smirk.

She shrugged one shoulder and absently tucked one lock of hair behind her ear. "Ah well. A woman can dream, can't she?"

Despite the fact that Varric was well familiar with light banter in her tone, having used it more often than he could say himself, he found himself abruptly and quite unexpectedly, with absolutely nothing to say in return.

He must have looked somehow stricken, or perhaps the silence was simply too skeptical because Hawke swooped in. "Oh, relax!" she said with teasing impatience , half an order and half an apology, "I'm just playing, Varric. I do think you deserve that much, at least, for barging in on me like this."

"Right. Absolutely," Varric looked at her for a long silent moment and then laughed a breath. He shook his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream. "Sadly, my lady, lovely as you are, you just aren't quite my type." He drawled and bowed to her, backing up a couple of paces as he did so. Then he straightened. "But I'll tell the others you'll be back soon."

With that, he turned sharply, retrieving Bianca from his back as he made his escape.

And Hawke, eyes narrowed and thoughts troubled, stared after him.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a lot to get a dwarf drunk. It was "Uncle" Donal who had taught Varric that, along with all sorts of tricks about having people followed, knowing who was worth buying off and who wasn't, and how to talk down an irate customer while reaching for your weapon with your left hand.

Of course, that particular lesson also came with knowing exactly what a dwarf looked like laying face down in his own vomit, too.

Varric studied his pint of beer and, realizing he wasn't sure how often Norah had refilled it for him, vaguely wondered if he was in danger of emulating good old Donal. No. Probably not. If he hadn't drunk enough to erase the sight of his brother, stark raving mad, or the scent of blood and death in that house, then he hadn't had nearly enough.

Maker, Bartrand. Why? Why did you have to be so stupid? He drained the rest of his drink in one rush, ignoring the somewhat flat taste. He stood up, hands lingering on the table while he made sure he could keep his balance. All of a sudden the laughter, the clink of crockery, the ramblings of the drunk two tables away, all disgusted him. He headed blindly for the door, looking to clear his head.

His brother had always been this steady, albeit annoying presence in his life. And, it hadn't always been bad. Varric remembered, or at least thought he remembered, a time when Bartrand had told him stories about Orzammar. He'd been very young, but he could still remember the rumble of Bartrand's voice and how his irritation with his tagalong brother had faded under the spells of the stories.

Hell. That stolen story, that moment of his brother's attention and approval, might have actually been the reason Varric told tales now.

One story. One moment.

Followed up by a life time of idiotic hard-headedness and attempted murder down in the deep roads.

He wondered if Hawke ever had regrets about how things had ended with her brother. She never talked about it. Sunshine, Bethany, used to though before she'd been forced into the Circle. The gentle mage had missed her twin a great deal and it had only taken a little prodding from Varric for her to confide in him. But, from what he understood Marian's relationship with Carver had never been quite as close as the one the twins had shared.

Maybe it was one of those things you just couldn't get away from. Sometimes the family you were born with was a kick in the ass and all you could do was make your way and find other people to stand with.

Which led his thoughts back to Hawke.

He'd been avoiding her, preferring to keep his bad mood to himself as much as possible while he worked things out. That wasn't really going as well as he'd hoped though and seemed somewhat foolish now. Sure, things were complicated between himself and Hawke. He had feelings for her, as strange as those words seemed even to his own ears. And, there were times, when he was fairly sure she had feelings for him too. It was damn hard to be certain though, since they both enjoyed the play and charm of the other. After all, Hawke flirted with many people, as did Varric. Given that fact, it was just too easy to let sleeping dogs lie and take things slow. Whatever those feelings were, surely they could wait until matters were... well... clearer.

None of that changed the fact that right here and now, however, he found himself longing for her company. For her voice and the reassurance of her conversation and presence.

Alright. He'd go talk to her. He exhaled. Just making the decision made him feel better.

Varric looked up to take note of exactly where he was and blinked. Oh, hell. Look at that. He was right outside the door to her estate.

"Nice job, feet," he muttered, impressed at their apparent initiative.

He knocked on the door and Bodahn answered.

"Oh, Varric! It's a pleasure to see you at such a late hour!" he seemed a little taken aback, but was still friendly.

"Good to see you too, Bodahn. I need to talk to Hawke," he didn't waste time.

"Of course, of course," Bodahn nodded. "I'm afraid though, she's up in her room..."

"Good," he smiled, "I know the way. Thanks."

He walked past, ignoring Bodahn's surprised expression, and moved quickly enough that he'd be long gone by the time the man got a protest together.

Varric might have been about to barge into Hawke's bedroom in the middle of the night without invitation or warning, but he wasn't a complete cad. He knocked first.

"Bodahn?" her tone was bemused and he took it as encouragement to head in.

"Not quite," he said, opening the door with eyes averted, just in case. "I'm not nearly as efficient, but I'm a lot more handsome."

"I can't argue with that," Hawke chuckled in return, already standing up from a slightly disheveled but still made bed. "What brings you here, Varric?"

"Just walking. Thinking. Found my steps leading here," he strolled further into the room. "Hope you don't mind?"

"You know I'm always here for you, Varric," she said, "For whatever you need."

He had a feeling that his smile wasn't without some wryness now, so he turned away from her and walked to the fire instead. "I know, Hawke. That's what friends do, right? I've got your back and you've got mine."

"Alright," the warrior was firm, "Talk to me, Varric. Don't make me do something drastic to loosen your tongue."

"Perish the thought." He glanced over his shoulder to find her sitting on the edge of the bed once more, watching him patiently but intently. "I'm just thinking about Bartrand. About what happened. It was so much easier when I could just hate him. Now I just sit and think." He couldn't find the words and so he stepped closer to her. "It's not like he was much, you know. But he was my brother."

"I'm so sorry," Hawke told him and then added, "He's still your brother. Just... a little less coherent."

He laughed then, both at the macabre situation itself and Hawke's clumsy but sincere attempt to help. "That's one way to look at it," he admitted as he reached out a hand to her. She caught it and he teased her, "You always do know what to say."

"It's a gift," she returned dryly, with that beautiful almost smirk of hers. And she was sitting while he was standing. That meant he was looking down into her face. All he'd have to do would be to lean forward. One simple motion and he'd be able to kiss her, to satisfy an impulse that had been growing into desire for the past three years.

He might never have that chance again.

The old arguments were still there, though. Hawke was his friend. More than that, she was his best friend and after so much time, that relationship had become precious to him. Worth defending. Even if he was just defending it against his own admittedly somewhat alcohol fuzzed libido. Complications...

"Var-?" Hawke began to speak.

Then again...what the hell?

He kissed her before she could finish, one hand sliding up to her elbow and the other going to her hair and the nape of her neck. Despite that full commitment, he didn't rush the kiss itself. If she was going to pull back, she'd pull back. Until then, he planned to savor the moment for as long as he could.

Hawke, however, did not pull back. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and slipped closer to the edge of the bed so that the distance between them was eliminated completely.  
"About time..." she murmured on a sigh.

Varric agreed.

It was shortly after Varric realized he'd been watching Hawke sleep for at least fifteen minutes that he decided he just might be hopelessly besotted. Moony-eyed and prone to spout bad poetry all the while presenting her with straggled flowers.

It might have been a fate worse than death, but at least he'd go out with a grin on his face, that was for sure. Especially since he would've been content to remain there, watching her sleep, for a while longer if it hadn't been for the fact that he was exceptionally thirsty.

He started extricating himself from Hawke's embrace, easing out from under her and shifting those long limbs of hers. For the moment, at least, she was truly and deeply asleep. She didn't stir, not even when he kissed her temple and whispered that he'd be back.

Varric left the room quietly, leaving Bianca behind to keep watch. He shut the door and started for the stairs, running a hand over hair that was no longer neatly tied from his face.

"Can I help you?"

Varric looked up, "Bodahn? What are you still doing awake?" He shook his head, good mood spilling over to make questions mostly irrelevent. "Never mind. None of my business. I was just heading to the kitchen."

"To get something for yourself and Serrah Hawke, I presume?" the other dwarf raised a single brow and didn't move from where he stood, right in the middle of the stairway.

"Yeah, that was the plan," Varric said slowly.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Bodahn's tone made it clear that he was not talking about food. Maker, had the older dwarf been listening at the door?

Varric hooked his thumb along his belt, smile fading. "Why don't you just spit it out," he encouraged, "Otherwise, I'll be obligated to go with your food analogy and trust me, neither of us would enjoy that.."

"Master Tethras, I know you care for Hawke. Anyone who has watched the two of you together knows that. But she's not your kind and you are not hers." Bodahn gestured his sincerity, "I've seen it before as I imagine you have as well. The differences never seem to matter until it's too late to do anything but hurt each other."

"Isn't that the risk of every relationship?" Varric challenged and then dismissed the concerns with a smile, "Besides, it's different. Hawke and I have known each other for a long time. It's not some quick tumble based on drink or curiosity." He moved to continue down the steps. He'd given Bodahn just about as much time as he wanted to right now.

"No, no. But are you sure it's not based on pity?" Bodahan asked quietly.

Varric's hand shot out, surprising them both to some degree as he grabbed the gold and crimson neckline of Bodahn's shirt, hauling the older dwarf forward before he could react. Bodahn clutched for the railing and his balance.

"I've-I've seen Anders and Isabella both come to court Hawke," Bodahn stammered slightly, but did not back down. "And she's turned them both down. But she doesn't rely on any of them like she relies on you, does she? And none of them were half-drunk and, dare I say, as upset as you were."

"So what?" Varric growled, "You think that matters? Hawke isn't the type to tumble someone as a … favor." Except, that she just might be, if it was a friend that mattered dearly to her. And they both knew it. Varric's thoughts raced.

"As you say, Master Tethras," Bodahn said obediently, though dubiously. "I just wouldn't want to see anything come between you and Serrah Hawke. Especially not ..urm.. expectations that..."

He trailed off in the face of Varric's tightening fist. When Varric wordlessly released him, he hurried off, nervously straightening his shirt.

Varric stood in silence for a long time before he returned to Hawke's bedroom, any sense of clarity now absolutely forsaking him.

Hawke woke up and stretched on the bed, a smile already playing on her lips as she looked for Varric. She found him standing by the fireplace, one hand on the mantle as he stared into the depths.  
"Don't tell me. I was hogging the covers," Hawke said slyly, propping herself up with one hand.

Varric smiled and looked at her. "Every last one of them."

She tilted her head, reading the shadow on his face without understanding it's cause. "Well, if you come back, I promise that I'll be more generous."

"It's a tempting offer," Varric conceded. "But it's probably better if I don't get between you and your linens." He paused, continuing before she could play with the potential innuendo, "I wanted to thank you. For listening to me earlier. I wasn't thinking very clearly when I came here and... things with Bartrand had been bothering me more than I wanted to admit."

She sat up, warily. "You don't need to thank me for that, Varric. I care about you. I care about what bothers you."

"I know," he said with a smile that was suspiciously weak, "You are an amazing woman, Hawke. Beautiful. Smart. And very good to your friends. I just hope I didn't take advantage of that."

She laughed, eyes flashing in both mischief in relief as she thought she finally understood what was bothering him. "I think that, technically, I was the one taking advantage, Varric. If I were a better person, I'd even apologize for it."

"Then, how about we just call it a debt between friends and let it lie?" That word again and the fact that Varric did not relax. Instead, he reached for Bianca, "I should get going."

Her posture straightened immediately, shock coloring her voice in disbelief, "Wait, you're leaving? That's it?"

Varric stopped, hand resting on the crossbow. "No," he said finally, "No, that's not it." He looked at her, searching her gaze for understanding and answers both. "You and I, Hawke. We would be amazing. A story to tell like none other. We could be the inspiration for generations of would be romantics and adventurers." He licked his lips, "But, those stories, Hawke. They never end well. And I'd rather have a long future with you by your side, then a short one with you in your arms."

"Well, that's just ridiculous," she retorted immediately, "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Of course you do."

Hawke opened her mouth to deny his bleak predictions, to take a stand against the new found doubts that he'd created. He was wrong. She loved him. And he loved her. It could be that simple.

Except, was it? Love. It wasn't as if either of them had spoken of it. He'd only come to her because he was upset. Perhaps this was his way of giving her a graceful out. And even if that weren't the case, what would she do if something went wrong between them, really and truly wrong. He'd leave her and then where would she be?

Perhaps... he was right?

The seconds stretched on and there was only silence. Silence and the ever increasing distance between them.

"...I don't want to lose you," she said finally, desperately.

"You won't," Varric promised her, and prayed that the sudden rush of loss twisting in his gut couldn't be heard in his voice. "Because I will always, always, be someplace you can find me."

She struggled, hands balling up bedsheets, tangling them. This was all wrong. She didn't know what was right, or what to say, but she knew that this was all wrong. "I... you... you better be, Varric." The threat in her tone masked the helplessness.

"Right behind you, Hawke," Varric promised simply, and with a shadow of his customary smoothness be bowed.

Then he had mercy on them both and left.


	3. Chapter 3

She walked through the door, leaning against the carved wood and letting her weight slowly close it behind her. It felt as if she had sand in the corners of her eyes. No. More like tacky blood gumming up everything. Every pore. Corroding movement. Rusting metal.

Which had some basis in truth, at least. Her armor was more scarlet then silver right now.

She looked across the small foyer to where the rest of the house beckoned. She knew that just beyond her vision, Sandal was likely standing by his tools of enchantment and Bodahn was probably close at hand.

From where she stood she could hear the fire crackling; see its orange-gold light spilling out onto the floor past the hearth. On any other day, there would have been an even chance that her mother would be standing near the fire. Soaking in its warmth and smiling.

But not today.

Marian Hawke would not see her mother standing there when she walked through those doors. Not today. Not any other day, ever again.

The concept felt strange, so she repeated it to herself.

_I will never see or hear my mother, ever again._

Hawke walked into the house that her brother had never lived to see, that her sister had wanted but would seldom, if ever, get to return to, and that her mother had loved.

Bodahn watched her walk by and hesitantly called, "Serrah Hawke?"

"She's gone, Bodahn," Hawke didn't turn; she began climbing the stairs. "I was too late, and now my mother's gone."

"Oh..." the dwarf's voice was faint, and then low with his own shock and sadness, "I'm so sorry."

Hawke just kept walking until the thought of her uncle stopped her mid-way up. "Bodahn, can you please send a message to Gamlen for me? Tell him that I need to see him."

"Of course," Bodahn said.

Hawke nodded and continued to her bedroom. There she stripped off her armor, scrubbed away the blood of fiends and monsters and then went downstairs to wait for her uncle. Once she was done telling him what happened, then listening to him rail against mages and finding herself regretting that she'd given him details, she mutely returned to her room.

She wasn't sure how she felt about the fact that it would be Gamlen to tell Bethany about mother's death. She'd seen so little of her sister and she missed her more than she admitted. But to face her and tell her? To face her and tell her that mother was dead? That she hadn't kept her safe like she'd promised?

She'd failed, yet again…

The word became a litany that repeated itself and played liltingly in her mind.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

When the door opened, she assumed it was Bodahn and didn't bother to look up. She didn't want him there. She didn't want to have to put on a cheerful face, to be the strong one, or to live up to his expectations as an employer.

"Hey, there, Hawke," it was Varric's voice, quieted from its usual boisterous level.

"Varric," she kept her own voice steady. She was proud of that.

"I thought you might want some company," the rise of his tone at the end marked the statement as at least partially a question. Was he right? Did she want him there?

The problem was that she wasn't sure. She felt as if she were deaf and blind, as if she'd been wrapped in wool and the very world itself had retreated far, far away from her fingers.

And she didn't know how to talk to anyone right now, much less Varric. She'd put a lot of effort into telling herself that it never would have worked out between them. That she'd gotten the best of things with his friendship and that thoughts of what might have been if she'd just pushed the issue were to be locked away.

"I don't know," she said finally, mostly because honesty with Varric was a habit, and partially because she couldn't think of a decent enough lie. "It feels like I don't know much of anything anymore."

Varric nodded and set Bianca down. Then he walked over to the bed and sat by Hawke. Wordlessly, he took her hand and squeezed.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Hawke asked, lips twitching as her smile, so ready to defend her against all conversational harm, failed to make a full appearance.

"Only if you want me to," he said simply. And he just sat there; thumb running soothingly, lightly, over her hand as he held it.

"I failed them, Varric," Hawke said after a time, when the words felt solid enough to be spoken. "All of them. I should have moved faster to protect Carter, I shouldn't have left Bethany behind while we went into the Deep Roads, and I should have done more to catch that bastard before he ever got a chance to get his hands on mother. I failed them all."

"Hawke, look at me," Varric told her, "You aren't the Maker and your actions are not the only ones that count. There is enough responsibility for the bad things that happen to go around. Don't you go hoarding it all for yourself." He paused a moment, searching her eyes, before he continued. "Carter was the one who decided to attack that ogre and I was there when your mother begged you to leave Bethany behind. She had a choice there as well, you know. As for your mother, there was no way that you could have known she was in danger or even gotten there in time. And you weren't the only one trying to catch him."

"But none of that changes the fact that she's gone, Varric," Hawke's expression was bleak.

"No," he agreed gently, "No, it doesn't. I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, straightening and raising her chin. She exhaled the breath and tested out the thought, "I guess that means I'm more or less alone now, doesn't it?"

"Of course not," Varric scoffed and drew one leg up on the bed so he could face her more directly, "What am I, chopped liver?"

Laughter came and, perhaps not unexpectedly, turned rapidly into tears. Varric held her, murmured comfort to her and stayed not only until the morning came, but also until she was strong enough to face it once more.


End file.
